A few weeks ago, Kathy and I received a gift from her sister. The gift? A seven-day detox program guaranteed to free our bodies of the harmful toxins that have been chilling out in our digestive systems for Lord knows how long.

Now, from what (albeit little) I know about detox programs, they are fairly intense treatments that typically involve herbal remedies, a drastically changed diet, drinking a lot of water, etc.

But not this program.

Unlike most other detox programs, our rules were fairly simple:

1. Open your seven-day kit.

2. Remove a tiny, one-ounce bottle of detox magic potion. Open.

3. Pour the bottle’s contents into the supplied water bottle and mix with 32 ounces of water. Shake well.

4. Drink the entire concoction at your leisure throughout the day.

That’s it! Not bad, huh? We got off pretty easy!

Whoops! I almost forgot the last step:

5. SPEND THE REST OF THE DAY SHITTING YOUR BRAINS OUT AT BREAK-NECK VELOCITIES!

It was insane. How insane? Hmmm… lemme see if I can explain this experience to you in a way that will actually do it justice: Lake Erie is more solid than anything that came out of me during those seven days.

At one point during Day Two, I actually APOLOGIZED TO OUR TOILET. I’m not kidding. I stood up, looked down at it and said, “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this.” If our toilet had a mind and a personality, Kathy and I would both be on death row right now for cruel and inhumane abuse. If he could (yes, our toilet is a male), our toilet would be writing his congressman about the ordeal. It was that bad.

I swear to Christ, I crapped out remnants of every meal I’ve ever eaten, including a can of mashed peas my mom fed to me in December of 1976, a Happy Meal my dad bought me in 1984, and a booger I ate in the second grade.

It was so bad that we started planning our days around it. Like, “Well, I have to do this interview at 1PM, so I guess I’ll wait to choke down my explosive-diarrhea-triggering donkey sludge until later so I don’t have to do the interview from the toilet.”

It had that much control over us; it was that powerful.

I’d like to tell you about a certain part of the story, about how someone was possibly shitting their brains out so violently that they had to grab the garbage can that was sitting next to them and vomit into it as they continued having ass-plosive diarrhea.

I’d like to tell you that part of the story, but I can’t because it didn’t happen to me. Shhh….

It got to the point where I’d get up and just want to get it over with. I’d chug down 32 ounces of that mud in a handful of minutes, and then spend the next six hours treating my toilet as if it were an arch-nemesis that had killed my entire family.

So am I now convinced that I’m toxin-free? You’re goddamn right I am. Christ, I’m convinced I’m intestine-free, to be quite honest. I better be toxin-free because there’s no way in hell I’m doing that shit again.

Thanks to Kathy’s sister for sending it along! Now could you please follow it up with 48 rolls of Charmin, a bottle of industrial-strength toilet bowl cleaner, and an assload of Glade PlugIns?